valley of the sun
Drove past the Wild Orchid Gentlemen's Club and they had a sign advertising "HUSTLER CENTERFOLD NIKITA" and my first thought was: Khrushchev in a G-string.
Going down to 110-degree Tucson for a test run—checking out apartments, helping my sister get a driver's license and bank account to establish residency for pharmacy school, etc. Back Monday. I'm sorry that I'm not interesting right now, and probably won't be for several months; like Marlowe said, the imaginary people are starting to supersede the real ones. It occurred to me yesterday that this particular art form centers more directly than any other on the creation of humans—they are the warp, plot and narrative the weft. They need one another to live. Which explains a lot about both the exhilaration and the backbreaking labor—this business of making people—
